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#I need to be careful with aus

clownsuu · 1 year

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g-good sir...y-your personified home....may i beseech a crumb or so 👉👈

Humanoid home is basically just a mass of shadow smhh (just like me fr fr)

cw poorly drawn guns/ kn//fe/ implied blo//d

Idk what the fart I’d call that au, all I know is my inspo came from those old “lvl 100 mafia boss lvl 1 rook” memes and the ol anime “Death Parade” (idk why I was thinking about it KDHFFHD I’m like half asleep atm)

#Welcome home #welcome home wally #welcome home howdy #welcome home julie #welcome home home #howdy pillar #wally darling #julie joyful #I need to be careful with aus #If I start making too many I’ll lose track and get all flustered again smhhh #Last one I drew is mostly just for shids n giggles I don’t really plan on doing anything with it #Though Tbf that’s like- all my aus JDHFHFHDJ #Welcome home mob au

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freelanceplatypus · 1 month

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Dungeon Meshi modern au where both Laois and Falin are food vloggers. Laois is always travelling to remote areas and cultures to try the most "extreme" foods and bring them to light. He's known as the guy who will drink blood and slam a still wriggling bug just to comment on it's nutty flavor. Meanwhile Falin is visiting long-standing eateries and sharing the stories behind local cuisine.

Nobody actually puts together they're siblings (in part due to wildly different viewerbases) until Falin in one video mentions how she enjoys eating insects and the comment section is full of folks asking her to "collab with the bug guy". Her very next video is her and Laois smiling infront of a mukbang style platter of insects and she introduces him as her brother.

#marcille is falins video editor/manager in general #which results in a lot of fancy editing and trip booking #meanwhile laois is working with his crew of senshi and kabru #kabru works as the face getting them in to restricted areas and senshi actually documents these cultures recipes #marcille actually edits laois vids too despite getting so grossed out watching them #meanwhile she makes falin eating blood sausage look like art #chilchuk is just on call at all times to get them in and out of countries #he takes care of scheduling in general you think the touden siblings can keep a calendar #itzumi is the picky eater friend that i feel needs to appear in more food review content #dungeon meshi #delicious in dungeon #modern au #laois touden #falin touden

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deuynndoodles · 4 months

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[ID: A colored, digital two page comic featuring Danny and Jazz from Danny Phantom. Danny wears a baggy hoodie over a shirt and jeans. Jazz wears a v-neck sweater and shorts.

Fentonworks, after curfew: Danny reaches for the doorknob to his bedroom, breathing out and gripping his shoulder.

"Where were you?" says Jazz, hands on her hips, making Danny jump. "Look, I know that Mom and Dad don't really care, but I do. You can trust me." She looks sad. "What's going on with you?"

"None of your business, Jazz." He looks irritated. He reaches for the doorknob again, muttering, "Just lemme sleep."

"Wait!" is written in all caps. Jazz reaches out, pulling at the hood of his jacket. Danny turns and raises his arm out of his hoodie, revealing an ectoplasmic injury. "Fuck off!" he yells.

Jazz pulls her hand away, startling backwards. Then, she looks sad as she says, "Oh, Danny…"

Fade out. They now stand in the Fentonworks bathroom, with Danny sitting on the toilet and Jazz hovering over him, cleaning a wound on his left shoulder. He's now in a binder and the original ectoplasmic wound has been treated. She scolds him and he grins nervously, curling in on himself. End ID.]

happy holidays @torscrawls !

#doodles #dp #danny phantom #danny fenton #jazz fenton #phandom truce 2023 #12/18/23 #i tried to include as much prompts as possible but it didnt work out too well #i still ended up burning myself out anyway 💀#basic thought was: new fentonworks security device (activates at night/when ppl arent home) targets danny when he comes home late #jazz catches him and promptly freaks out when she discovers his injuries #this is SUPPOSED to be in an au where she finds out before my brothers keeper or just. never finds out #but i wasnt able to fit that in #even still; i hope u like it!#this was done in my 'dey needs to loosen up and not care abt their lines' brush. shoutout to that. wouldnt have gotten it done otherwise

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kitocrystal · 4 months

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Checking out other Quest AUs as I wait for my will to come back to continue with Inky Mystery.

(The conflict has not let down yet and I’m starting to feel dread)

Anyway, go check out this neato retell of the og Quest story by @thequestfortheinkmachinecomics. The characters’ designs are nicely touched up, their personalities seems more natural now, the art is really cool and oh no, I’ve run out of juice for words… I just know that this retell will be good so I’ll be on along for this ride.

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solargeist · 7 days

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Can we pretty please get a Grian and Xelqua meet-up?? I love how you draw Xelqua and Grian and I just need to see what they would do if they meet......for science of course

wait hold on.. goes crazy .. I don’t have a design for Xelqua, that was just Grian earlier, but…. I think it’d go well

I think Xelqua is his patron, so he’d be excited to meet him !

but I was also playing with the idea that Little Grian here is a reincarnated version of Xelqua, but still looks up to him, prays to him, would want to be picked up and hugged by him, the safety of it. (How can he be reincarnated and still have a form here ? Well the divine can be a bit finicky)

#something something abt the first thing little grian says to Xelqua is did you hear me ? When I thanked you for the food !#<- Aether showed him how to pray before meals #ask #my art #Xelqua #sketching #Late night doodle of them . Yawnssss #Also something something abt Grian being a reincarnated Xelqua and the two angels having to take care of him #he has no divine memory ! Maybe some vague feelings involving being scared of lightning and missing the ocean . But he’s just a little kid #that needs to be fed and kept out the weather and his back scratched so he’ll go to sleep #someone hold me back this is becoming a one shot au #Also Xelqua is 5’0/152cm still. Aether and Flora can’t tell if he’s another child when they see him 😭😭😭#Grian and Xelqua meet and it’s like when Goten met Goku for the first time . Bursts into tears rn live

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deantfwinchester · 21 days

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Hands

Pairing: No-Outbreak!AU, Joel x Teacher!Reader as usual (let's just assume these No-Outbreak Joels are all the same couple tbh), established relationship

Summary: Friday nights are reserved for sweatpants and relaxation, of course. But when Joel's work week leaves his hands a bit worse for wear, the night may need to include a break for a little extra attention.

Warnings: extreme fluff once again. expect it at this point. i'm a one-trick pony, i fear.

A/N: finally got around to putting one of my many bulleted notes-app idea fics into paragraph form again! Will we get another one before the year's out? It's anyone's guess! -_-

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Friday nights are your favorites. No dinner to cook or rattling rolodex of tasks to come in the next twelve hours give you both a little room to breathe — to gently unwind from yourselves and into one another. It’s typically quiet, and when it isn’t, the volume is born of laughter from games or stories the three of you share.

Joel comes home from an exceptionally long week. You know he’s been on site every day—the whole team has—working longer and longer hours to wrap up the latest project before the client’s deadline. You’re pleased to hear his keys rattle in the door not long after five o’clock, and relieved because the air’s rapidly cooling earlier each night. Daylight Savings time is coming to an end, and today he barely beat the sunset getting home.

You know the hour means little, however, and are less than astonished at the weary grin he bears on catching sight of you and Sarah on the couch when he walks in the room. She’s already got her purse on her shoulder, eager to head out when her friends arrive, and she’s excitedly recounting the events of the trailer for the movie they’ll be catching tonight. He stands idly in the doorway for a moment, just listening to the two of you chat. You make brief eye contact and smile back, assuring you know he’s there. Neither of you wants to interrupt her avid storytelling.

“Well don’t you sound excited?” he says when she pauses to catch her breath. You both turn to greet him, and he moves more quickly toward you as you attempt to rise, gesturing to you to remain seated. He’ll come to you both.

He plants a kiss on top of Sarah’s head before leaning down to kiss you as he does each night. You place a hand on his chest and pause when he pulls back to get a good look at his face. You see the fatigue in his droopy-eyed smile, but can’t say anything to him. You already know it’s mirrored in your own expression.

The doorbell rings before either of you can speak again, and Sarah jumps up to head out the door. You wish her a good night, and he follows her to the door, checking for a familiar parent in the driver’s seat and seeing her off. You see him hand her some cash to go with his reminder to make good decisions, and he hugs her. You can’t help but giggle when she takes it with a wide smile.

He turns to you laughing when he sees she’s in the car, and shuts the door.

“What?” he asks, brow furrowed in confusion, but amused at the sound of your laughter.

“Smart girl. I gave her a 20 before you got home,” you grin back at him. He stills in understanding and rolls his eyes.

“You couldn’t tell me that two minutes ago?” he asks you in mock exasperation.

“But it’s so much funnier this way!” you add, giggling again. You both know he’s wrapped completely around her finger, though she so innocently does not. It’s one of the first things you noticed about him. One of the first reasons you fell in love.

He shakes his head fondly, and places a hand on his stomach, which begins to grumble softly at him. You raise your eyebrows and meet his gaze. “Any thoughts on dinner?” he asks, and you grin back at him in amusement.

“Handled. Pizza’s already on the way,” you respond and he feigns relief.

“You’re brilliant.” he says, walking up and grabbing your hand on the back of the couch. You run your thumb in little circles on the back of his hand and give it a light squeeze.

“Duh. Now go get changed! It’s do-nothing time starting now,” you respond, patting the top of his hand in encouragement.

“You read my mind,” he says, leaning down for another quick peck before heading off into the bedroom to change out of his work clothes. Naturally, you’ve been in sweats for over an hour now, shedding your own outfit immediately, peeling the school day from your skin. The unspoken uniform for these Friday nights is extremely specific.

The pizza arrives before Joel can even return from the bedroom in a feat of incredible timing. You’re gathering plates and filling glasses with ice when he emerges ready for the night. He moves forward to help you grab the dinner, but you shoo him away to the couch.

“Nope, I got this. You sit,” you say, lightly shoving his chest away. You leave no room for argument. He grumbles a bit and raises his hands, backing away to the living room. You follow behind him with the pizza and plates, and return once more for the drinks before settling next to him on the couch. He sits on one end, and you sit in the middle, leaving little room between you.

You lean forward, putting pizza on one plate you pass to Joel before grabbing your own, then settle back against the cushion, both sinking in so comfortably a nearly audible sigh fills the room. The comfort in this relief is palpable, and the decompressing can begin. You grab the remote and put on the series you’ve been binging together recently, more for background noise than anything else.

A few slices and sitcom episodes deep, you’ve set your plates down on the coffee table. With your bellies comfortably full, you’ve somehow slumped deeper, though Joel into the couch and you into his side. His arm is draped over the back of the couch behind you, and you’re nearly laying on him, head propped against his shoulder.

You hold his free hand in both of yours and absently play with his fingers for a second when you notice the aggressive wear this week has lent his hands. They’re a raw, angry red at the knuckles; his nails are cracked in some places and peeling in others. Moving your fingers gently down toward his wrist, you focus more directly on the state of his, catching sight of a few hangnails and stretched cuticles that can’t be comfortable. He looks down as you begin to worry them beneath the soft pads of your own fingers, and you meet his gaze, brows furrowed as you look between his face and hands.

“Keep doing that, please,” he says with a sigh before closing his eyes, “I wait all day to feel your hands on mine. They’re so soft.” He lifts your hand to his lips before pressing a feather-light kiss to your knuckles. He loves the delicate, reverent way you play with his hands, like they’re small, fragile things in need of tender attention. You take his hand once again into both of yours and gently rub it between them, looking back up at him, concerned.

“How do yours feel? They look like they’re hurting you,” you gnaw a bit at your bottom lip in thought, and he tries to assuage your worry.

“I’m alright, darlin’. Nothing worse than I’m used to,” he says. He knows from your deepening frown that you’re less than satisfied with this response.

You couldn’t care less if he’s used to it, he shouldn’t be. You know the protective callouses forged there don’t mean those hands are unfeeling in the slightest.

“Wait there. I’ll be right back,” you say, rising from his side and hastening to the bedroom. It’s his turn to frown now, both in confusion and at the sudden draft that’s appeared at his side.

You return not a minute later with a small tote around your wrist, and hands filled with half the manicure items you own. You sit down next to him and unpack, laying clippers, files, cuticle oil, and two different hand creams — a lotion he’s seen you use regularly, and a jar that must be a new addition — on the coffee table in front of you, along with the selected polishes and remover you had in the tote bag. You’ve been meaning to do your nails, anyway.

Joel looks incredulously at you, unsure where this is going. Not that he’s a stranger to nail polish — he raised a little girl on his own long enough to have worn the rainbow on his fingers, but tonight?

“Sorry, no color for you today, honey. Certainly not before these are healed,” you say. He’d chip half your handiwork away by Monday afternoon anyway the way he’s been working lately. Facing him, you cross your legs on the couch and smile, holding your hand out expectantly for his. He raises his eyebrows at you, but places his palm gently in your own.

You grab the clippers and get to work on the hangnails first. Any peeling skin or cuticle right there at the nail you clip as gently as possible, making note of the reddened and slightly swollen areas at the base of his nail from which they protrude. Those will need careful attention at the end. He doesn’t squirm or react in any way, but you know they’re more sensitive than he’s letting on.

Next, you clip back any breakages and unevenness in the nails themselves. You’d never find Joel Miller with dirty hands — he gets them clean as soon as he gets home, but all the scrubbing it takes to keep them that way takes its toll. A little trim at their length might help reduce the need for so much each day upon his return.

After clipping, you grab his first hand again and rest it gently in the palm of your left while your right files steadily to even any rough edges left behind and prevent further injury. It won’t take much, but you’re sure to get them smooth so they won’t catch on anything or bother him later on.

The cuticle oil is next. He looks at it questioningly, clearly a bit skeptical, only having seen it a few times when you or Sarah used it. He’s never ventured so far himself. While you brush it gently onto each of his nails, you explain its purpose.

“This’ll just help your nails get a little stronger. It’ll get them hydrated a bit, keep ‘em from peeling so much when your hands get dry. It’s kinda crazy how much better this stuff is for your nails than even water is. Water’ll make the peeling worse, actually. Weird, huh?”

He just nods along, listening to you, content to learn something new as always. Finger by finger, you massage the oil into his nail and nail bed. After the first round you go back through to massage again, both to make sure no oily feeling is left behind, and to prolong the rapidly concluding process. He could use the attention, anyway.

Finally, you pick up the jar he identified as a new addition: a canister of a hand repair cream labeled for “Healing of dry or cracked skin.”

“Never seen that one before,” he says, reading the label, “What d’ya need this for? Your hands are never dry! I think they’ve been soft every time I’ve held 'em since the day I met ya,” he smiles at you, and you bashfully brush off the compliment.

“I don’t need it. I use the other one,” you say with finality, opening the jar and pulling the first of his hands into yours. You don’t grab a large dollop of the stuff. You don’t want him to feel a disconcerting weight, grease, or stickiness from this unfamiliar formula, so you get a little and begin. You add a bit more each time you reach a new spot on his knuckles, palms, wrists.

You take your time, gently massaging into those roughened, tender hands far more than a simple healing salve. He understands why you have the jar now, looking at you knowingly, and you smile back. No words need be exchanged.

Once you’ve finished the last finger and the last stroke on his hands, you squeeze the one in your own, then pat it gently with your other, “There. Gotta feel better now, yeah?”

Joel stares at you like he just watched you reach up and place the moon in the sky, if for no reason other than to light his path.

“Like you wouldn’t believe. Thank you sweetheart,” he says, squeezing your hand back and smiling reverently at you. You blush beneath his gaze and look away, unsure what to do with the admiration rolling off of him in waves. You lean back against the couch, file in hand as you start going at your own nails.

“Good. Don’t let 'em go that long again, either. Where they start hurtin’ ya? Maybe we oughta make this a weekly thing. Manicure night? Been needing someone to do my right hand,” you grin, wiggling the corresponding fingers at him. He smiles back at you, then reaches over and pulls you toward his side, back to your original position laying against him, head resting once again on his shoulder.

“Sounds like a plan,” he says fondly into your hair, planting a kiss to your head in the process. You get comfortable once more, foregoing any plans to do your own nails tonight. You both know those “manicure nights” will be for him — and you’ve got Sarah to do your right hand already, when you do hers.

You grab the same free hand once again and admire your work, then lace your fingers between his own, and rest your twined hands on his leg. You’re satisfied knowing the hand behind you on the couch is comfortable now, healing from the week’s toils and melting into the comforting haze of the early autumn evening.

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imfinereallyy · 8 months

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Steve Harrington was not a treasure.

His family had treasure for sure: more gold than they could count, family jewels passed down from generation to generation, and an estate with more rooms than servants. But Steve himself was nothing worthwhile.

Women were worth something; well… daughters were. In Steve’s mind, it all seemed a bit twisted. The women he knew were only as good as their selling price, not seen for their minds or strength. It confounded him most days, considering they could rule better than he ever could. They probably should rule instead. Still, in most family’s eyes, although their worth was demeaning, but it was still worth.

Steve Harrington didn’t hold any value. Most saw him at best as the damaged heir, broken and bruised beyond repair. Others saw him at worst as his father saw him, as a disappointment who would only make good helping running the ship under the man Richard wished was his son.

Steve was almost certain he could be lost at sea, and no one would ever bat an eye.

So Steve is baffled, really, when one of the few times his ships is back in port and he stays a rare night in his family’s estate.

Perplexed when the rooms are broken into and raided in the time before dawn by the ruthless crew of Hellfire, that they come looking for more than gold. He is baffled, and downright alarmed when, instead of killing Steve as they had for many of the guards, they rip him away and steal him, much like the gold that lined the halls.

And when he meets the dreaded Captain Munson for the first time, where he brushes a thumb across the scar on Steve’s lip…Steve can’t help but be stunned into silence when Munson mutters under his breath, “Looks like we found our hidden treasure.”

#steddie #I can’t stop thinking about pirate Eddie #there needs to be more #this is just like a prompt #idk if I should write more #no one probably cares about this lol #pirates #Steve has a tragic past in this one #pirate eddie munson #Steve Harrington #Robin is there in spirit #they become besties on the ship #stranger things #my writing #writing prompts #steddie au

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snailsnaps · 23 days

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Couple spare sketches I didn't post with the others

I'd like to think that you need some time to get adjusted to your new um - body. And if it were anything like VR, we're talking about some real ahh motion sickness and balance issues, at least until you get acustomed to the feel.

But Kinito would be so happy to have you there with him!!